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271
The Potato Blight
Nature has her sickly years,
'Tis to show she's not divine;
In the failure it appears
Of an humble, blighted vine.
'Tis to show she's not divine;
In the failure it appears
Of an humble, blighted vine.
Says vain man, with plenty blest,
‘Thus to-morrow too shall be;’
But who knows what will be best?
Who the morrow can foresee?
‘Thus to-morrow too shall be;’
But who knows what will be best?
Who the morrow can foresee?
On the morrow, in his sight,
Droops his harvest far and wide;
Touched by some mysterious blight,
Sent to humble human pride.
Droops his harvest far and wide;
Touched by some mysterious blight,
Sent to humble human pride.
‘'Tis the effect of natural laws,’
Says proud Science, blinded still;
‘I will show mankind its cause,
And remove it by my skill.’
Says proud Science, blinded still;
‘I will show mankind its cause,
And remove it by my skill.’
‘God no miracle has wrought,
Since creation's early hour;
When from chaos, or from naught,
Worlds were fashioned by his power.’
Since creation's early hour;
When from chaos, or from naught,
Worlds were fashioned by his power.’
But the human heart, more wise,
Sees in this His present hand;
And in lowly wisdom, tries
All He does to understand.
Sees in this His present hand;
And in lowly wisdom, tries
All He does to understand.
Asks, ‘why, with a blighted vine,
Nations' fate should be entwined?’
‘How all nature doth combine
To fulfill what God's designed?’
Nations' fate should be entwined?’
‘How all nature doth combine
To fulfill what God's designed?’
Learns whate'er the Lord may give,
Or whate'er he takes away;
Trusting in His love to live,
That doth feed us day by day.
Or whate'er he takes away;
Trusting in His love to live,
That doth feed us day by day.
272
With new sympathy it glows
For its hapless neighbor's lot;
And its love to others shows,
Who to like distress are brought.
For its hapless neighbor's lot;
And its love to others shows,
Who to like distress are brought.
Feels that all mankind are one,
Not in knowledge, but in love;
And, wherever shines the sun,
Should their common kindred prove.
Not in knowledge, but in love;
And, wherever shines the sun,
Should their common kindred prove.
Poem No. 347; c. 4 October 1851
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